


Break You Down

by gigantic



Category: Bandom
Genre: Lapdance, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-05
Updated: 2007-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-21 17:46:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/903077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gigantic/pseuds/gigantic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete takes some photos and rocks the wardrobe for a while longer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Break You Down

**Author's Note:**

> Here are [the pictures in question](http://pics.livejournal.com/gigantic/gallery/00002k01). Also, um. I actually don't know if the home photoshoot shenanigans happened in Pete's house or, you know, somewhere else. Let's say they rented a place! Okay. Yeah.

Patrick shows up in the middle of the shoot. He hangs around while they finish up, watching as Pete poses for various shots, and he listens to whatever music Pete has shuffling on the stereo when they disappear into the bedroom. After the photographer leaves, Pete is still wearing white pants but has already taken off the shirt, black material balled up in his hand.

"How was it?" Patrick asks, and it's not a hello, but it'll do.

"I don't know," Pete says. "Whatever. We were just sort of messing around."

Patrick nods. "Did you see any of them? They come out good?"

Pete shrugs. "Yeah, I guess." He's already smiling before he gets it out that, "I was in all kind of clothes, dude. Crazy shit," completely amused, and Patrick mirrors it.

"Yeah?"

Pete says, "Yeah," and describes some of the outfit. He tells Patrick he even had some boots on just, these platform heels, seriously, and he makes him wait a minute while he goes to grab them from the room.

They really are bright, platform boots. Pete puts them on, only zipping up one, and it covers most of his calf, nearly reaches his knee.

"What's the view like from up there?" Patrick asks, smiling.

Pete laughs. He says, "On top of the world," and twists his foot in the carpet experimentally. "I tried to walk in these and almost broke my neck."

That makes Patrick laugh out, imagining Pete stumbling around in shoes way out of his league. Pete probably didn't just try to walk in them, knowing him. He probably tried to jump, tried to see if he could stand on his toes. He probably twisted his ankle at least twice, and laughed off the pain even as he hissed and then stood up and tried it again. It's because Pete's an asshole.

"You're an ass," Patrick tells him, and Pete shrugs that off, too.

"Fucking sexy, right?" he asks and picks up his knee helpfully, indicating the boot. "Unzip this for me?"

Patrick only rolls his eyes a little but does it, bending down and freeing his foot in a quick motion. Pete puts his hands on Patrick's shoulders when he stands again and leans into him as he steps out of the shoes. It catches Patrick off guard, and he steps back a bit against the press, marveling at the way they're suddenly the same height again.

"Yo," Patrick says lamely, and Pete just smiles. He bobs his head to the music on the stereo and doesn't move his hands.

"Hey," he says back, still moving to the song, and then, "hey -- hey, you know what?" and pushes Patrick until they get to the table in the dining room area, and Pete pushes Patrick onto an out-turned chair.

He's still grooving to the music, slightly behind the beat, and says, "I have no idea what's playing."

Patrick tells him it's The Black Keys, the answer automatic. He says, "It's a cool song. I mean, you know."

"Oh, is this one of the CDs you gave me?" Pete asks, and Patrick says maybe. Probably.

Pete sits on Patrick's lap and says he likes it, and Patrick says, "Yeah, they're -- what are you _doing_?"

Pete hasn't really started moving much yet, just sits on Patrick's legs. He does move then, and asks, "Dude, how do you know when a song is good for lap dancing?" and Patrick shrugs because he's used to Pete wondering out loud. "I could do it," Pete says, and he snaps his hips again.

Patrick squirms uncomfortably, laughs and tells Pete to get off, but Pete does it again, and when he does stand up, he doesn't go far. He bats Patrick's knees apart with his own, supposing, "This song would work, probably."

It's kind of funny how focused Pete looks at first, like he's trying to figure out how to attack the situation, but then he touches Patrick's thighs. He starts by pushing his hands up from Patrick's knees and creeps up from there, leaning over, and Patrick grabs his wrist, chuckling, but Pete grins and keeps going, lingering for a second when he gets to the crease at Patrick's pelvis.

He pulls away, and Patrick tries to laugh at Pete as he asks, "You don't think I can?" and turns around. And Pete is really giving him a _lap dance_. He's trying to anyway, and he catches Patrick's hands every time he reaches out to hopefully push Pete off.

Eventually Patrick figures he should just let Pete hurry up and get bored, because that's how Pete works. It's best when Patrick acts disinterested or completely unconcerned, too, and Pete keeps at it for a few minutes, sliding against Patrick and looking over his shoulder to gauge Patrick's reaction. He has this permanent smirk plastered his face, as if he's waiting for Patrick to really break so he can laugh his ass off or something, and Patrick closes one eye, smilingly nervously, but he doesn't give Pete the pleasure of shutting him out entirely.

Patrick thinks he might be gaining the upper hand, too, but Pete doesn't stop when the song ends. He simply turns around as the next one starts up, saying, "Patrick, come on, you have to be the only dude in existence not into a good lap dance even a little bit."

Patrick says, "Nobody's saying I'm not into _good_ lap dances," which makes Pete raise his eyebrows, surprised or impressed by the comeback, Patrick can't tell.

He doesn't necessarily mean it as a challenge, but Pete hasn't stopped moving, rolling his hips against Patrick's steadily. He cranes in and hovers at Patrick's ear, hooking an arm around his shoulders. Patrick waits for him to say something, but Pete just laughs breathily, and his movements stop coming quite as grand, less dramatic, Pete pulling himself right into Patrick's body.

Patrick has his hands dropped to the side. He says, "Pete," and Pete says, "You said good, dude," as he grinds harder.

Patrick freezes up, thrown off by the thrill that creeps through him. Pete has to feel it, too, as he keeps going. He laughs again, the amusement fading into heavy sighs. He does it another time, and it's impossible for Patrick not to let it affect him. He gets hard against Pete's leg, and he knows he's probably flushing, embarrassed, but Pete doesn't back off when Patrick shifts his thighs underneath him. He doesn't budge even when Patrick tries to lift up, buck him off or something. Pete keeps going, and there's no way this is a dance anymore. Patrick can feel Pete's breath against his jaw, says, "Pete," like maybe that'll snap him out of it, maybe he'll laugh again and it'll revert back to a joke, teasing.

Instead, he says Pete's name, and Pete says, "You can touch me," reaching down to brush his fingertips across the back of Patrick's hand.

Patrick's hand flutters, flaps in reaction to Pete's touch, but when he doesn't actually move it at all, Pete grabs it himself and brings it to his thigh. Patrick curls his hand against Pete's jeans, scratches blunt nails over the fabric. Pete leaves his hand there, palm against Patrick's wrist, and the next time Pete rocks their hips together, Patrick swipes his his hand up to Pete's hip and holds him there. Pete grits his teeth against Patrick's cheek, and Patrick turns his head. His lip touches Pete's, their mouths grazing, and Patrick thinks briefly that he should be more shocked that Pete doesn't stop him, that they've gotten this far.

He feels it against his top lip when Pete licks his own lips, wetting them, and Patrick kisses him as he inhales. It's Pete's turn to tense now, his whole body pausing as his mouth catches on. Patrick moves his other hand to Pete's side and holds him by both hips, lifting up. Pete's mouth is soft, enthusiastic, and he likes to bite a little when he kisses. The song on the stereo changes again, and for a moment, all Patrick can hear are the wet sounds of their lips and breaths. Pete jerks against Patrick once, and then shifts back to sneak a hand down to Patrick's pants, thumbing the button, and Patrick gasps against Pete's tongue as he hooks his fingers into the top of his jeans and underwear.

Patrick mutters, "Pete, this place isn't even --"

Pete says, "It's mine until I lock up and return the keys."

Patrick starts to say something else, pulls back again to speak, and Pete says, "Patrick, man, I'm about to touch your dick," which is not something that has been lost on Patrick, no. He didn't miss that detail and neither did his cock, apparently. Pete's removed the arm around his shoulders to get both hands at Patrick's zipper. He looks down as he gets into the pants, tries to wiggle his fingers underneath the clothing. It seems tough like this, hard to get access, and Pete says, "this was a lot smoother in my head just now. Your pants are too tight."

Patrick laughs, because, right, Pete has room to talk about somebody's tight jeans. He says, "dude, blow me," and Pete snaps his attention up again.

"Yeah?" he asks, and Patrick takes the opportunity to kiss him again, leaning forward, and Pete smirks into it, hands carefully folded under Patrick's jeans, knuckles bumping against his skin.

He tries to hitch Pete closer, get back the friction they'd built up. The idea is kind of overwhelming, the possibility that he could have Pete on his knees, that right now Patrick wants that, and this really isn't the best time for playing anymore. And he thinks Pete _has_ to be kidding, so he keeps a hold on him, and maybe Patrick can at least have this. Pete's sitting on his lap, humping Patrick in a house that doesn't even belong to either of them, and they can apologize for it later. Patrick wants -- he _wants_ , and that's suddenly the whole issue.

But Pete barely scoots forward again at all, nowhere near where Patrick needs him before he's breaking up the contact of their mouths to say, "hold on, I'm gonna," and tugs at Patrick's jeans for emphasis.

"Pete," Patrick breathes, and can't decide on how to end that warning, opting to slip his hand around Pete's back. His pants have dropped some, inched down during all of this, and Patrick's hand rests against the swell of his ass, curling the tip of one finger in the belt loop there. The skin is warm under his palm, and Patrick means something different when he repeats himself this time, sneaking his other hand down from Pete's side to feel that he's definitely just as hard as Patrick is.

Pete jumps back at that, moves away from Patrick's hand groping him through the pants, and Patrick feels selfishly triumphant. Pete's a lot of talk, but Patrick isn't the only one a little out of his element here, and the thought makes watching Pete slide off and onto his knees that much easier. It's still one of the most intense things Patrick has seen in a while, the way Pete doesn't even smirk up at him now, just pushes apart Patrick's thighs and then reaches up to tug on his clothes. Patrick lifts up automatically, and Pete works the jeans and underwear down to Patrick's ankles, staring at Patrick's cock as he does.

Pete finally looks at Patrick again once Patrick kicks off the clothes, nudging them aside with his feet, and Patrick says, "You don't have to," even though the last thing he wants is for Pete to change his mind now.

He shifts forward, slumping in the chair even as he says it, and that does make Pete grin. It gives him what he needs to feel in control of the situation again. Pete's hands on Patrick's naked thighs spark a chill in him, and then Pete slips them around to hold on and guide Patrick forward more. His breath puffs over Patrick's dick, and Patrick fidgets. At first he thinks there's no way he's going to be able to watch this, but Pete touches his cock, fists it and licks the head, and Patrick can't turn away.

It occurs to him, as Pete takes him in, sucking firmly, that he probably knows more about Pete than anyone, but he has no idea how many times he's done this. The thought crosses his mind a split second after Patrick thinks that, fuck, Pete's more than pretty good at what's he doing. He uses his hand and mouth, and Patrick grips the seat of the chair to keep from touching Pete's head, but when Pete lets go of his cock to carefully push down until he's got almost all of Patrick in his mouth, Patrick's hand reacts immediately. He braces the back of Pete's head and focuses on staying still. Pete backs off and goes all the way down one more time, creeping his hand under Patrick's shirt and rubbing his thumbs along the skin.

He needs -- his hands feel restless, and Patrick tugs at the brim of his hat, pulling it down and pushing it up again, something, and Pete is _sucking him off_. Patrick can't help it; he touches Pete's face when he's close, drags the side of his hand over Pete's cheek and down to warn him and exhales in a rush as Pete lets go but doesn't pull all the way. Pete rubs his balls a little, just enough, and Patrick has a terrible, thrilling thought that he's going to come in Pete's mouth just before he does. Pete leans back after it catches on his lip, strokes Patrick through the rest, splashing his own thighs and Pete's hand. Patrick has to shut his eyes against it when Pete looks at him and swipes his tongue across his bottom lip, swallowing.

He feels Pete squeeze his cock, making him gasp, and Pete's still watching him when Patrick chances sight again. He bites his lip and Patrick reaches to touch his mouth, scraping his knuckles against the corner and then bending forward to touch Pete's neck, sliding off the chair to kiss him and push them onto the floor.

"I can't believe you did that," Patrick says, as Pete accommodates him. "That's so gross, I can't believe --"

Pete just groans, battles with Patrick's hand at his pants until they get them open. He starts pushing them down on his own, and Patrick gives him the room. It's the first real air he's taken in since Pete climbed onto him, and he's watching Pete -- this is _Pete_ \-- bunch his hand in his pants and strip against the carpet. He's completely naked once they're gone, stretches out, and arches his back. Patrick traces the curves of his ribs, and then touches Pete's cock, curving toward his stomach. Patrick rubs his hand over Pete, and Pete strokes Patrick's forearm, simultaneously tilting his head for Patrick to get to his mouth again, and the kiss stays dry for longer than Patrick expects, their lips brushing together until Patrick twists his hand and Pete's mouth parts.

And even the lewd kisses -- even Patrick's hand wrapped around Pete's _cock_ feels more chaste than when he starts moving his hips. He moans against Patrick's mouth, spilling tiny strips of jagged sound onto Patrick's tongue, and he encourages Patrick to come nearer. He grabs for Patrick's back, clutches a fist full of his shirt and pulls Patrick almost on top, hooking his leg over Patrick's and rocking into him. Pete's breath pools in the hollow of Patrick's throat, damp clips of hot air across Patrick's collar, and Patrick gives him the resistance he needs, reciprocates and relishes Pete's frustrated sighs.

When Pete rolls onto his back entirely, Patrick follows, hunching over Pete and crushing their hips together, angling so that Pete's dick slides against his own, and Pete's spine bows.

"Can you go again?" Pete asks, closing his eyes.

Patrick blinks. He holds one of Pete's arms to the floor, and Pete knocks Patrick's hat off with the other, sweeping it out of the way, and pulls him down, waiting with an open, ready mouth.

"What?" Patrick says and Pete cants his hips again like he's making a demand.

"Right now," he says, his voice thinner than he probably means. "Can you, do you want to fuck me?"

The words sucker punch Patrick in the gut, shoot straight to his cock, and he bucks hard against Pete's body. Pete's thighs brace Patrick's, coming up around them for emphasis, and it's too much like this, Pete lithe and offering. Patrick holds his hand to Pete's thigh, drags the expanse of it and shifts his position thinking, God, this is what it would look like, this is how Pete will look beneath him if Patrick presses into him in this position, raises his hips and slides inside, and Pete just _asked_ , and, yes, Patrick wants and he wants and --

"I don't," he says.

"You don't?" Pete parrots. It comes out desperate, sharp.

"We don't have anything," Patrick clarifies, hand fluttering on Pete's skin, anxious. "I don't have any -- "

He's carding through his brain, trying to think of hasty alternatives, and Pete pants, "okay, okay," and tightens the vice of his thighs around Patrick. He says, "Like this -- Patrick," and they slide together with new vigor.

Patrick is burning up now, can feel the sweat prickle at the back of his neck, and they're both down to ugly, harsh grunts by the end of it. Pete clings, pushes closer even when there's no where else to go. Patrick mumbles that, "I do," over Pete's mouth, "I want to fuck," and feels Pete's whole body wind tight. Pete keeps gasping, staying close, and Patrick comes again after Pete says, "yeah -- yeah, I want," burying a ragged, throaty promise just under his ear and sealing it with his teeth caught on the lobe.

The stereo still plays.

Patrick hasn't been paying attention, but the sound hasn't stopped looping throughout the room. He wonders, momentarily, about what the soundtrack for humping your best friend on the dining room floor might've been until Pete squirms, and Patrick rolls off. Cold air rushes across his middle, giving him goosebumps up his arms, and Patrick lies out through a whole song, tapping his fingers on his belly idly, and closely watches the ceiling.

Pete finally asks the question first. He asks, "Are you freaking?"

Patrick doesn't know. He paws the floor around him ineffectually and gives up when his hat isn't right there. He stares at the white ceiling, too aware of the way his skin's drying and how messy he probably is. He's going to be nasty, will definitely have to clean up the come smeared and cooling on his stomach and thighs, and Patrick just doesn't know. His shirt probably isn't worth wearing anywhere else today.

"Not really," Patrick says honestly, and then thinks about it again. "Not yet."

He feels Pete shift beside him, come closer maybe, it's difficult to tell. "Yeah," he agrees, and Patrick knows Pete's looking at him because he can feel the word on his face. "But we might not."

He has a point, Patrick thinks. He turns his head and lets his his eyes wander down as far as Pete's chest. He visually maps the concave dip of his stomach when he breathes in deep and then moves his attention to Pete's face.

"Yeah," Patrick says. Pete could be absolutely right, Patrick thinks, and that might be the problem.


End file.
